


you're gonna carry that weight.

by senator_princess_general, spaceprincess97



Series: ~*~gays in space au~*~ [3]
Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: (yee-haw), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Space Opera, The most ambitious crossover in history, also kinda a historical AU if you squint, everybody put a yee-haw in the chat for Charlie, getchu a couple that takes three chapters to tell their origin stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senator_princess_general/pseuds/senator_princess_general, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceprincess97/pseuds/spaceprincess97
Summary: POV: you're a farm boy from Earth who becomes a victim of a war crime after your ship crashes onto the planet waging the great war. Then, your fate rests in the hands of a mysterious prince who is known for his unpredictability and recklessness. wyd?
Relationships: Charles Amos/Justin Bancroft
Series: ~*~gays in space au~*~ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745071
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	you're gonna carry that weight.

**Author's Note:**

> Act 1 written with my dear wife Annika for the Daltonfic Big Bang 2020 week 6, day 6: Sci-fi. Title taken from the final frame of Cowboy Bebop, which I believe comes from the Beatles song.

Charlie had never been afraid to fly. His parents had taken him on his first private spacejet when he was six, a diplomatic mission to Strattomeia V, and he’d loved it ever since. He’d started star pilot lessons when he was sixteen, preparing for a future as a space captain. That was the plan: graduate high school, travel with his parents for a year, go to the academy, and then finally receive command of his own ship. But, as Charlie’s escape pod hurtled into the orbit of Marnamor, it occurred to him that maybe things weren’t going to go to plan.

It was hard to say what went wrong, at first. The crew of the Jolly Roger was small, but thorough. They had never missed a system error before. He and his mother had even double-checked the engines themselves. And for most of the journey, things had run smoothly. It was only when they began their descent, 10 minutes from the planet's surface, that a deep metallic groan echoed from the belly of the ship. The swift inspection that followed proved the worst: their landing gear had been destroyed, the grav sensors were permanently disabled, and the crew escape pods were all deployed. There was no proving who did it. There was no time.

Charlie had fought back, when his parents told him to take the emergency pod hidden on the bridge. How could he abandon them? They needed him, now more than ever. But they wouldn’t listen.

“A captain stands by his crew,” Roger told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. The emergency lights bathed everything in red, making it hard to see, but Charlie could have sworn his dad was crying. Charlie hugged him, and Roger held him tight, clapping him soundly on the back. Then he pushed Charlie in the pod and locked the door.

The pod was tight. It was only built for one person, and only for short journeys; the locator tech was designed to identify the nearest registered planet and land there. There was no window, which felt both like a blessing and a curse. The agony of not knowing what was happening outside was balanced precariously with the comfort of not having to watch as his life crashed into the Marnamorian dirt.

Charlie’s head was still in orbit with his parents when the pod finally landed, and it was the gentle bump as it settled that jolted him back to earth. The door released with a soft hiss. He stepped out gingerly, one hand ready on the grip of his blaster in case of any trouble. But all was quiet. He had landed in the middle of some sort of grassy park, greyish buildings rising up around all sides but one where a cobalt-colored river flowed past. All of it felt foreign, and unfamiliar, but if there was anything Charlie knew, it was the Jolly Roger’s safety protocols. The pod was programmed to land by the nearest embassy which meant—

This was Solia, Marnamor’s capital city. The Jolly Roger’s destination, before things went sideways. Epicenter of one of the bloodiest interplanetary wars the galaxy had ever seen. Notorious for the gangs and stardust cartels that ran rampant in its streets. And Charlie was stranded there, alone.

He didn’t have much on him. His holster was strapped to his thigh, like it always was, and he had a little pouch on his belt with a little money, but beyond that he had no supplies. It’s not like there had been any time to grab his things before he left the ship; it was just him and his blaster against the galaxy.

Charlie’s first objective was new clothes. Everything about him, from his cowboy boots to his worn red flannel, would identify him as an Earther on sight. Sure, Solia played host to beings from all over the galaxy, but it was hard enough just being human, let alone a human from Earth.

His mother had told him about the Solian indoor marketplace before they’d left home. Nestled in the heart of the city, vendors from all over the star system came there to sell their wares. It was loud, eclectic, busy—the perfect place to hide. Charlie didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he did know that the market was somewhere along the river that bisected the city. Surely, if he followed it, he’d get there eventually. He crossed the bridge and as the skyline opened up, that’s when he saw it.

There, towering over the city, was the royal palace. The city itself was a faded grey, like the years of warfare had sapped it of color but the palace—the palace was a clean, seamless white so bright it almost glowed. The spires jutting into the sky were sharp and imposing, as though daring outsiders to come any closer. Cold and detached, people said: just like the family that lived inside.

He had heard a little about the royal family from his parents: King Richard, poised and calculating. Rumor had it that he was the one who’d orchestrated the war in the first place, to bring Marnamor to power. Queen Lindsay, his wife and second in command. She was the one who oversaw public policy in Solia. And their children, Prince Justin and Princess Laura. Laura had made headlines a year prior when she ran off to join the Serendipity Heliosphere Hunters, but Justin—Justin was a mystery.

* * *

In comparison to its sharp, white architecture that pierced through the slightly-dingier construction of the city, the inside of Hanover Castle was another, much darker, story. Well, at least Prince Bancroft’s spaces were. The walls bore a stronger resemblance to the color of brick than metal, and the lights always seemed to sit in a constant dimmed state. In the center of the barely furnished room, Justin sat cross-legged, hovering about a foot off of the floor and emitting a light electronic whir. His four arms hung limp by his sides, and his head was tilted back, eyes closed and mouth softly opened and breathing. A four-pronged headpiece was attached to the crown of his head with one prong each clung to the nape of his neck, the center top of his forehead, and either temple. Another day of studying. 

These were his least favorite days. Complete seclusion, lost in a web of history and laws that felt as though they were pieces of software installed into a host device. Justin didn’t like thinking about his own dehumanization as training. He didn’t like thinking about royal life much at all. 

Every day was different, and yet every day never allowed him to do things he necessarily wanted to do. Every other day he had studying for twelve hours, during which his worldly observation and sense of time disappeared. Then, in between, he would fluctuate between shadowing his father, a full day of defensive and methodical physical training, and trying petty criminals and crimes. It didn’t help that a day on Marnamor was as long as three on Earth.

The bits of joy he did feel in between his duties he got from talking to the service workers and chefs, causing a ruckus with some of the only other children of officials training in the palace (the Willis twins came to mind), doing his duties outside on the palace gardens and grounds when he could, or attending spectacles and shows in the city on royal outings. However, even if he was outside, he was not permitted to show his face. A true Hanover royal reserves his bare face only to those most intimate to them: predominantly spouses and family. A Hanover royal was expected to mate for life, and give up any notion of attachment to anything other than close family. When his sister ran off and gave up her title, his parents even detached themselves from her, something typically unheard of, as family was the most sacred aspect of the crown. 

But Justin despised that notion. Justin didn’t believe in much, but he did believe in three core ideas: justice, peace, and passion, things he supposed his distant, war crime-committing father did not. Justin believed in the idea that sensitivity and consideration should not be reserved for only a select few, but should be shared with the whole world over which he reigned. The veils and masks were supposed to allow for complete neutrality but instead yielded fear and intimidation. Justin didn’t want that when he ruled; he barely wanted to rule in the first place.

The first time he tried to leave the grounds without his covering he was scolded, the second grounded, the third imprisoned, and each subsequent time becoming more and more intense. He regularly showed his face bare to the Willis twins, and while either could suit Justin romantically in his parent’s eyes, Sydney claimed openly that she would never commit herself to anything that wasn’t her planet, and Spencer was not interested in personal attachment to the monarchy. Therefore, Justin was punished for that, as well (but still did so in private). His father, King Richard, promised Justin that it would get easier, that he himself was responsible for plenty of chaos and mischief at Justin’s age and that his Queen mother before him straightened him out, but somehow Justin didn’t believe that. Not for the freedoms that were stripped from him, not for his parent’s simple disassociation with his rogue sister, and certainly not for the intergalactic war his father and elected-ruler Paxton Willis waged to further empower the most powerful of Marnamor while it’s own citizens turned to violence and crime to simply stay alive. What was hazing Justin’s heart and mind, if not for perpetuating a war he did not believe in to support a system that erased him?

He often wondered how much of his circumstances he would have to endure. He loved his parents, but he frequently found himself fantasizing about their fall from power, and thus his rise or subsequent demise with them. Either way, he thought, would bring him bliss, as long as it wasn’t where he was. He also knew that whatever could happen would be brought on by someone else’s hand. He wondered if it would be by the hand of some opposing warlord or some suffering townsperson or even his own sister. While he survived day to day in the mold that restricted him from forcefully usurping the thrones from his father and (especially) Paxton, every possible other outcome had crossed his mind. (Or, so he thought.)

* * *

“How much is this?”

Charlie held up a hat appraisingly, admiring the craftsmanship. It was a warm oaky brown, the front emblazoned with a golden sun. The fabric was soft, almost like felt but more fibrous. 

“28 pieces.”

Damn. He put the hat back on the table with an apologetic smile and moved on. Charlie always tried to keep foreign currency on hand, just in case, but Marnamorian silver was hard to come by off world. With his stomach twisting, he remembered how his father had announced the mission, by tossing a bag of it on his bed. “Your first big adventure,” he’d said. Some adventure this had turned out to be. As of now, Charlie had no way of knowing what had happened to the Jolly Roger or his parents. He couldn’t help the part of himself that hoped, no matter how impossible it was, that they had survived. That against all the odds, they all might make it back to Earth someday. 

“I could take those gloves off your hands.”

Charlie turned to see an older being standing behind him, just a little too close. He wasn’t Marni, that was clear from his bluish-white skin, but he certainly wasn’t human. He reached out one gnarled claw to stroke the burgundy leather. Charlie inhaled sharply.

“They’re not for sale.”

He tried to pull his hand away, but the vendor’s claws stayed loosely hooked around his knuckles. 

“50 pieces, at least. Maybe more, with Earther craftsmanship like this.”

Charlie swallowed hard. He flexed his free hand. 

“I reckon you better back off.”

The claw clamped down hard on Charlie’s left wrist. The vendor’s face creased into a smug smile.

“You’d be smart to take my deal. A lost juvi Earther like you? You won’t last a day without silver.”

“I said, back off!” Charlie acted on impulse, whipping the blaster from it’s holster and aiming it at the vendor’s head, finger hovering over the trigger. 

“You there!” A voice called out in Marni. 

He looked to the right and saw a man dressed in royal colors making his way toward him. The vendor’s smile melted away and he let Charlie go. He let out a weird, guttural snarl, and then disappeared into the crowd. The man, who must have been a guard, judging by the crescent emblem on his cloak, came up to Charlie and started speaking in rapidfire Marni. Perhaps reading the confusion on Charlie’s face, as Charlie knew maybe two words in Marni, the guard switched to common. 

“No blasters or foreign weaponry in the market. That’s policy,” he said, his accent rounding the vowel sounds. 

Charlie hesitated, then holstered the blaster. The guard looked at him appraisingly. He didn’t look unkind, necessarily, but he did look skeptical. Who could blame him? Even in a place diverse as this, Charlie stuck out. Picking a fight with a vendor was as good as shooting up a flare that said “Here! Come find me!” 

“I’m going to need to see some identification.”

Charlie wasn’t stupid. He knew that the destruction of the Jolly Roger wasn’t an accident. There was someone out there who had tried to kill him and his parents, and whether or not they were in the city, no one could know that they had only half-succeeded. Charles Amos, son of Interplanetary Ambassadors Roger and Sandra Amos, could no longer exist. 

He reached into his pouch and withdrew his botanist license, the only identification he had without his birth name. He held it out and the guard took it. 

“Charlie Windsor?” he said, reading the name on the card. Funny, how a nickname could become a lifeline. Charlie nodded. The guard frowned and let one hand come to rest on the blade at his side. 

“Tell me, Charlie Windsor, how does an Earther botanist end up drawing blasters with merchants in Solia?”

Charlie racked his brain for an excuse that wasn’t suspicious or illegal. 

“A study. I’m doing a study on foreign plants. The moonwillows only grow here, so my lab sent me to collect samples and examine...” Charlie trailed off. It was a plausible excuse, and maybe the guard would’ve even believed him—if it hadn’t been for his complete lack of equipment, and the guard, in that moment, spotting the Earther Embassy seal hanging around his neck in the botany ID picture. The guard heaved a heavy sigh and, before Charlie could resist, pulled out a set of mech handbinders and clasped them on Charlie’s wrist. 

“Let’s go see what the prince thinks of your interest in horticulture.”

* * *

Justin had just finished his twelve hours of grueling studying and had removed his cranial device. Guess that ten minutes of break he had would be all for him that day, as he was quickly met with a rapping on his door. 

Justin moved to his desk to find his daytime facial veil, and he fastened it to his dark wavy hair with the attached pins. “Enter,” he spoke with an enveloped sense of authority that masked the impending dread of what they would ask of him. The door vanished and in came the guard. 

“Sire,” he spoke, “I hope you forgive my coming, as I know you just finished your studying. But, we have a young man who we brought here on suspicious activity.”

“What was his crime?”

“That’s for you to decide, sire.”

Justin frowned beneath his veil. Too often was that the answer from the guards that patrolled the city.

  
“Very well. Bring him to my judicial chamber,” Justin responded, as he always did.

  
“Yes, sire,” the guard obeyed. He briskly walked away and the door rematerialized behind him. Immediately, Justin turned to his desk, held his face with his top hands and promptly slammed the surface with his bottom two. He spewed a colorful array of swears in his mother tongue of Marni. Was it not enough to have just one day to himself? Or, at least one day where he could _be_ himself?  


The prince exhaled sharply, trying to expel the intensity of his emotions before he could let them cloud his judgement of the poor boy’s sentencing. He smoothed his hair with his top hands while straightening his vestments with his others and made his way out of the chamber to approach the hall at the other end of the palace. Along the way, he aligned himself up to a more regal posture, with his bottom arms clasped, as was traditional. 

When Justin stood at his full height and completely covered, he appeared even more terrifying than his father. Justin was younger, stronger, taller, more emotional, and thus, more unpredictable. Justin would catch some of the guards who wouldn’t bat an eye at Kings Richard or Paxton often hiding themselves when he passed by. _Good_ , he thought, _Let them know better than to keep bothering me like this._

He approached the hall with grace, and bowed before the guards there, signalling them to adorn him. One guard moved to set his crown upon his head, and attach the traditional rings, chains, and metals to his body. The other fetched his cloak that snapped into the collar of his top. 

With an exhale and rise of one of his arms, he was ushered into the courtroom, another mostly bare room that simply angled on an incline with stairs leading to a single metal throne at the top. Justin balanced himself and made his way to the throne, glancing down at the boy he was trying.

Charlie knelt before the throne at the bottom of the incline, bound and gagged with the mechanical bindings of the guards. Justin noticed not only his odd clothing but the way it was tattered in some places, and the way the mud caked onto his leather boots. He couldn’t be from around here, let alone have been on the planet for more than a few Earth hours. What did Justin miss during his education session?

“Sire, this boy claims to be a botanist from Earth,” the guard behind Charlie introduced.

“Ah, an Earther boy,” Justin noted, switching to common from the Marni the guard spoke so that Charlie could understand. “Isn’t he a bit young for that?” 

He turned to Charlie, whose almost-purple eyes screamed to speak for himself. 

“Remove his gag,” he coolly commanded. The guard obeyed, and Justin did not break eye contact for a second. He felt the need to keep the boy comfortable, but probably came off as a looming threat, a regal monster shrouded in layers of dark blue.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Justin asked.

“No,” Charlie started, panting a bit from the gag being removed. “No, I am not."

“What is your name? How old are you?”

“His name is-” started one of the guards. Justin promptly cut him up and raised his left arm: the family’s signifier for demanding respect.

“I asked the boy,” Justin retorted, with threat lingering on his tongue. He moved his focus down to Charlie once more. “Once again, what is your name? How old are you?”

“My name is Charles Windsor,” he lied. “I recently turned eighteen Earth-years old.”

Justin furrowed his brow under his veil. “Windsor, was it?” He let out a thin, higher-pitched sound that denoted him pondering that last name. He leaned back and glanced down at the boy, battered and broken, yet still fighting. “You know,” he continued, “We were expecting a Char-”

He paused, thinking about the Amos family that should have arrived hours ago. They had an eighteen year old son named Charles, too. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Not when travel to Marnamor was so risky from the war. But then, why would Charles be here when he should have already been welcomed to the palace with appropriate garments and rooms? Something wasn’t right. His pause intensified the situation, and after a few more moments, he lowered his head down to rest in his hands.

“I would like to be left alone with the prisoner,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Sire, we do not think-” Justin raised his left arm again. 

“One more word and I shall have you stripped of your title,” he commanded once more. They didn’t budge. “ _Go!”_ he demanded. His voice echoed through the chamber as if he were an enraged god. At the beam of his voice, the guards tentatively exited the chamber, leaving the Earther boy alone with the crowned prince.

With the sound of the doors rematerializing behind the guards, Justin stood upright from his throne. But, as soon as he did so, Charlie hurled himself up and began to bolt towards him with gritted teeth and inflamed eyes. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Justin suggested, back in his cool monotone. “If you so much as lay a finger on me, they’ll kill you.”

Charlie stopped halfway up the stairs, still glaring at the monarch. 

“Kill me yourself, _your majesty_.”

Justin smiled. How cheeky. “I would if I wanted to, but I do not. I did you a favor, Charles. Now we can speak more intimately.”

“I would rather have them back in the room to hold you accountable."

“I hold _them_ accountable. You’re lucky they aren’t in here. I’ve never done this before.” He started moving down to Charlie. “But, I sense there is something different about your case. So, tell me, Charles: what brings you to our kingdom?"

He was nearly eye level with Charlie now, only a few steps up to maintain his power. Charlie was speechless. 

“Earlier today, we were expecting a family from Earth with a son your age named Charles,” Justin continued when Charlie did not. “Amos was their name-”

"Take our name out of your mouth!” Charlie bit back, running up to the royal to meet him eye to eye. Justin smiled once again, taking a step back. He was feral, so Justin attempted to maintain his unperturbed demeanor (as he was unfortunately taught to do). 

“Why is the son of Earther ambassadors facing me right now in my chamber?” he responded, before pausing to think and asking again in a different manner. “What happened to your parents, Charles?”

With that question, Charlie fell back down on his knees and began to cry without his hands free to even wipe his tears. Justin nearly brought himself to release him, but hesitated for his own safety. The Earther boy appeared a crushed shell of a human in front of him, but given the outlines of the muscles beneath his soiled clothing, he wasn’t going to take that risk.

“Someone killed them,” Charlie choked out, “and the whole crew, too!"

And suddenly, the puzzle became complete in Justin’s head. With him in his studying session, he couldn’t hear the ship come down, nor the aftermath of the event. The grounds were cleaned by the time he finished, and the fact that no one spoke about it was deafening. Justin was shut out of a war crime that happened on his very property, and here he was with the lone survivor with the brains to outsmart the guards. Otherwise, Charlie would have been killed by now. 

Justin wouldn’t let that happen.

He lowered one of his top arms into his coat pocket, and withdrew a handkerchief to offer to Charlie. He refused. Justin couldn’t blame him.

“I offer you mercy, Charles,” Justin decided. Charlie looked back up to him. “I don’t believe you would pull guns on Solian merchants for no reason. Around the city, people fight life or death to protect themselves, and I do not think you should be held accountable for protecting yourself while in grief.” He walked down closer to Charlie to face him once more on a very personal level. “You’re a botanist, yes?” Charlie nodded. “It just so happens that I tend to a variety of greenhouses and gardens when I am not in training, though now that my sister has run off, my time has become much more occupied, and I do not have the time anymore to tend daily. I would like to offer that job to you, as well as a room in the palace as you rehabilitate from this tragedy. This offer is extremely generous."

Charlie had stopped crying at this point and appeared more confused than anything. He stood back up.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Because you are the victim of a war I do not believe in,” Justin responded. “I want to protect you as repayment for the indirect actions of my father and the King-elect, even if I know that this will never repay the devastation you have experienced. If anyone here or on any allied planets nearby learn about you, you will be executed. Justin watched the boy’s expression morph from confusion to pure doubt. 

“I don’t believe you,” Charlie responded coldly. “All you speak of is a romanticized form of imprisonment.” 

“Then go ahead and try to leave. Hell, I will even _give you_ the ship to do it,” Justin proposed. “But, you won’t make it, no matter how much of a hotshot you think you may be behind the wheel of a starcraft. You don’t know this kingdom and this war like I do, Charles. Let me help you."

Charlie stared at the prince, still in a heightened state of skepticism. 

“Take off your veil,” he demanded. Justin became shell shocked.

“I beg your pardon,” he responded.

“I said, take it off,” he repeated. Justin was sure that if his hands weren’t bound he would have removed it himself. “You want me to trust you? Then look me in the eyes when you talk to me, _your highness_ ” 

And, to much of the prisoner’s surprise, Justin did.

He moved his top hands up to peel back the fabric that shrouded his face and locked his own dark blue eyes onto Charlie’s richer eyes. The other boy looked back, agog and almost a little entranced at Justin’s bare face.

“So, how does it feel to be the first foreigner to face me, Charles?” he asked with a playful smirk. Charlie’s mouth curled up into a soft smile for the first time during their entire meeting.

“You can call me Charlie.”

“I cannot or else you will be killed. Try another."

“Jack, then.”

“Well then _Jack Windsor_ , will you follow me to your chambers for some much needed rest?”

As Justin turned around and gestured for him to follow, Charlie paused one last time to consider. He thought of his home on Earth. He thought of his parents being killed and Cousin Gil alone on the farm. He thought about Hope. Everything he once possessed and everything he dreamed about raced through his head at lightspeed, and it was all taken from him, every last bit of it. But, when he looked back at Justin’s bare face as the first non-member of royalty to glance upon it, he couldn’t help but feel like this was the only thing keeping him from losing his life, too. Charlie looked back up to the royal reapplying his veil to face the palace staff once more, and began to follow him.

“Yes, your majesty.”

  
  



End file.
